


What We Give You

by AgentMal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: HYDRA Trash Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/pseuds/AgentMal
Summary: Rumlow and Rollins have a little fun with the asset after a mission.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	What We Give You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winter_angst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/gifts).



Rumlow was tired and wired. He had just come in from a hard mission that had gotten loud and messy, and was both hyped up on unexpended combat tension and could barely walk from exhaustion. He wanted to sleep, and he wanted to punch someone in the mouth. He wanted to get punched in the mouth. He wanted to be kissed deeply. He wanted to sink into bed clean without having to stand long enough to shower. He wanted to gouge someone’s eyes out.

“Well you look like shit.”

Jack had just got in from the second helo, but didn’t close the door behind him when he came into the Officer’s Quarters of the Strike on-base barracks. 

“You look like shit, too,” Rumlow said with a smile. 

“But you’re happy to see me”

“What do you fucking think?” They were both slowly, tiredly, unfastening clothing to get out of their tac gear.

“You’re about to get happier.” 

At that Rumlow looked up from the thigh holster buckle he was working on. The Winter Soldier had trailed Jack into the room, closing the door behind it. The gesture almost made it look like a person.

But it wasn’t a person. It was the Fist of Hydra. And now it was detailed to their post op R&R. 

Rumlow split into a shark grin, dropping his tired arms to his sides.

“Jackie, boy, I fucking love you. Winter, come here, get me out of this.”

The Winter Soldier came over and started undoing buckles and straps. Rumlow stood but was otherwise limp. 

“How long did my favorite SIC get us with it?”

Jack laughed, “More than enough- scheduled his post op cleaning and diagnostic for six hours from now. Before then he’s ours until we want to send him to solitary. Or to the boys.”

“Eh, fuck em. Let Winter have a rest after we’re done with him. Did great today.” The asset didn’t give any overt sign but Rumlow knew it was pleased with the praise. It kneeled to work at Rumlow’s boots and Rumlow summoned a little energy to put his hand on top of the asset’s head, idly moving his thumb through its long hair. Lord, but he wanted to sit down. And Winter had been going even harder on the mission than him, had to be as tired, but was still working with deft fingers even faster than Rumlow would have. 

In moments Rumlow was unencumbered enough to strip off the last of his clothes as he shuffled to the bathroom.

“Now Rollins.” Rumlow said without turning as he went, gesturing mildly toward Jack.

He turned on the shower and got in, letting his head slump forward to rest on the wall as the water poured over him. 

It was pretty damn great.

“Now you, too, Winter, get your stuff off. Follow us in,” said Jack in the other room. A moment later he was climbing in with Brock. Brock hadn’t moved from where he was leaning head first against the shower wall. He was concentrating on not sinking to the floor.

The sensation of Jack moving a washcloth over his skin is not a surprise. Rumlow’s mind hones in on the sensation. 

“Turn.”

Rumlow doesn’t move, wasn’t really listening. The water is warm, hot even, steaming up the bathroom. That and the washcloth on his skin are...pleasant. It makes his pains and scuffs and soreness from the mission start to come to his attention.

More insistently, “Brock. Turn.” 

Rumlow turns 180, glaring at Jack on his way to leaning his head against the opposite wall. “Better watch that tone, Rollins,” he says seriously. 

“You outrank me in the field, not in bed,” Jack fires back with ease, smile playing on his face. 

“We ain’t in bed yet. And we’re on base, I still outrank you.”

“ ‘I still outrank you’ ” Jack says in a mocking impression of Rumlow’s tone. 

Rumlow huffs. “That lip of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days.

Just then an arm precedes a third person entering the shower- not meant for two adult bodies, let alone three. 

“Wait!” 

The asset pauses.

“Wait till Rumlow’s out.”

The arm is withdrawn.

Jack turns back to Rumlow, putting his hands on Rumlow’s shoulders and sliding them up into his hair.

“Come on,” he murmurs, gently tipping Rumlow’s head up to wash his hair. 

This also Rumlow allows himself to just feel, everything else fall away for a moment. 

The dark shadow of the asset on the other side of the frosted glass would be pinging Rumlow’s senses, but his comfort with the asset’s ambient presence has grown over their years of using it. It was hardly more than furniture. 

Eventually Jack tapped Rumlow’s shoulder and he stepped out, going wide around the now naked but still bloody and filthy asset, who stepped in. 

Rumlow toweled off sluggishly, now highly aware of all the damage his body has accumulated. The cuts and scrapes and broken scabs, all the little things he ignores in bulk on a daily basis, pulled at his senses almost more than the far more serious fatigue and soreness and outright wounds. 

He dragged himself to the bed and finally let himself collapse on it, staring at the ceiling as he enjoyed the rush of relief that flooded him. 

The sounds of the shower running were pleasant white noise. 

Part of him was still wired.

Eventually Rumlow heard the shower shut off and they came back in, toweling their hair and otherwise naked. Rumlow tilted his head up a little to watch them. He never gets over the view, of either. Works of art, bodies that well cultivated and well used. Of course Rollins had to cultivate himself, whereas the Winter Soldier was the creation of Hydra. 

“You asleep, boo boo? Want us to let you be?” Rollins and that fucking lip.

“I want a mouth on my cock,” he responded acerbically. Actually, Rumlow wanted to choke someone out while he rode them, ideally while someone else had it’s mouth on his cock, but sitting up was not happening anytime soon and getting off would help unstring him at least a little. The asset neutrally moved to lean over the bed, but was intercepted by Jack. 

“Nah, I want my mouth on him. You give him a massage, Winter. Torso, arms, sides, scalp.” Then, thinking of something suddenly, “And! Put your mask back on.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow at that. The asset merely turned to his pile of dropped gear to comply.

“What? I think it’s hot. You’re so fucking hot in that thing, Winter. In that and nothing else. Just stand there and let us look at you.” 

When the asset had the mask back on it stood and turned to them. 

“Shit!” Jack said, approvingly. He circled the asset, dragging a finger across its shoulders. The asset noticeably swallowed.

“Oh, you like that? What would you want us to do to _you_ , huh?

“Jack, fuck, don’t talk to it like a person.” 

“But it does like it, look.” 

Rumlow looked over and saw that the asset was at half mast, staring at the mattress. The sight of them - the asset naked and aroused and masked and holding itself still, and Jack standing directly behind it, drawing fingertips of both hands along its shoulders, was doing things for Brock. 

“There’s still no mouth on me,” he huffed. 

Jack smiled and slid his hands around and down the asset’s torso, caressing, massaging, grabbing its hips to grind gently against it for a moment, continuing back up, moving one hand on top of the mask and the other down to hover over it’s hardening cock. Holding the asset’s head by the mask, Jack leaned his over the asset’s shoulder to stare at Rumlow. 

Slowly, teasingly, he said, “Tell me you like the mask.”

 _That_ had an effect on Brock, but before he could answer Jack was murmuring in the asset’s ear, just loud enough for Brock to hear.

“What do you want? Come on, you want my hand on you? You want me in you? Him? You want to do one of us? You’re the Fist of Hydra, you’re our best weapon, you’re helping us shape the world, you’re allowed to feel good. You feel good when you make an impossible sniper shot, you feel good when you follow orders, it’s okay to feel good _here_ , too.” Jack punctuated what he was saying by grasping the Soldier’s cock, moving sensuously behind him. The asset’s breath came heavily through it’s mask, clearly affected. 

Jack pointedly takes his hand away, still using the other to hold its face in place as he now whispers directly into its ear, getting more and more insistent. “Don’t pretend that doesn’t feel good, not right now, not when we’re asking you, telling you you can have this. You want my hand back? You want to feel good some other way? Want me to eat you out? Want to be alone with your sick metal hand? What do you want?”

The asset was more conspicuously affected, trying to keep it together but breathing more heavily. 

Jack’s voice took an edge, “I’m asking you a question, Soldier.” 

“Jack!” Rumlow barked. “You can’t ask him something open ended like. He doesn’t know what he wants. Fuck, even a few years ago they were still beating him for coming before they were done when they took him for rec.” Before Rumlow was commander of Strike.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine.” His hand went back on the asset’s cock, started jacking him languidly. “Let’s keep it simple. Soldier, do you want me to stop?”  
For the first time tonight the asset looked distressed, eyes darting around. 

Rumlow sighed, starting to get irritated, “Belay that, Soldier. For Pete’s sake, Jack, it can’t answer that. It wants to say whatever you want, and it doesn’t know what you want. Probably can’t even untangle what feels good physically from the high of obeying, from all the shit we’ve been doing to it for decades.

“It’s not a person, Jack. It’s a weapon. It was made _from_ a person, obviously, and it has fucking nerve endings, but we’ve fucked it up so much from ever kind of programming we can come up with that it doesn’t know _what_ to think until we tell it. _And that’s good_. It suits the will of Hydra.”

Sighing heavily, Rumlow fucking sat up and turned toward them, then faced the asset, who locked eyes on him.

“You’re our weapon, Winter. Our _perfect_ weapon. You’re a tool for the greater good and you’re a damn good tool, but you’re not a person. You want what we tell you. You do what we tell you. You get to enjoy what we let you enjoy. When you make a perfect shot and it feels good, that’s because we want you to feel good. When you get shot or stabbed or burned and you keep moving, that’s because of us, too.


End file.
